Salt in the Wound
by TrAiNoFhOpE
Summary: Their lives after the war with no end were good - though still plagued by the Death Eaters and their mysterious ways. They thought life would return to normal, well, as normal as it could get. That was, until some of them went missing. R&R!
1. Chapter 1: Just Lost It

**A/N I don't know if I want to keep writing. But you guys let me know what you think. I promise, I have the whole story-line planned, that you'd be surprised by later events. But, I don't know. I don't have much time anymore to write. Do love comments though; let me know!**

**Songs: (no relation) Running in Place – 10 years**

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"Severus," somebody shook the man's shoulder and asked, "are you awake?" There was a pregnant pause, and then the mysterious disembodied voice turned, "What happened?" Severus was slowly regaining consciousness but waited before reacting. The boy's question was a good one. What _had_ happened? It was very little that Severus couldn't remember something. It was one of those things that he'd prided himself on. But – and he'd made sure that it wasn't the pounding in his head – something didn't feel quite right.

"I found him like this." Severus subconsciously raised an eyebrow.

"Like what?"

"... Unconscious." Severus sighed, idiot boy. He groaned lowly in the back of his throat, allowing fair warning for whoever was so close to him. He doubted they would remain in their position above him when they realized that he was rousing from whatever slumber had claimed him.

"Severus? Professor Snape?" He was gladly taking his time waking, but he coughed lightly, surprised at the endearment. He tightened the clasp of his lids over his eyes, then opened them dazedly. When his eyes adjusted, he spared no time in closing them again.

"I would recommend placing yourself further away, Mr. Potter." He didn't move again until he was sure that he heard tread on leaves and feet misplacing dirt. He sat up, opening his eyes again to see a tinted view of the world. Everything had worked itself green from the shine against his closed eyelids.

"Are you alright, sir?" Harry asked quickly, shyly at the man's burning gaze. But Severus sighed and let it drop, already aware that he'd been getting along much better with the two dim-witted friends of Hermione's since they were together. It had been getting harder and harder to get annoyed with them.

"I'm fine," _really, even though my head feels as if it's going to split open and spill over your shoes_. He felt a bit nauseous, but he shook it off mentally, and waved his head physically.

"What happened?" Ron finally spoke up worriedly. Severus honestly wished he could answer the question, but he couldn't remember. A short picture of scared, caramel-brown eyes kept sitting funny in his mind, though. He didn't want to believe that it was Hermione he was seeing. The thought that it was made him go numb with worry – and jumpy with the need to protect her.

But still, Severus was incredibly confused, "What in Merlin's name is going on?"

"- I just asked you the same thing!" Ron butted in, but neither Severus nor Harry thought it was appropriate.

"He's obviously confused, Ron." Harry scolded, and then turned to Severus. "You weren't the only one missing." Harry finally clarified darkly. "A few -" he choked "- other students are too," finally escaped undecidedly.

"Wait-?" But then the words sank in.

Severus's breathing, quickly followed by his racing heart, stopped, quickly and he was left feeling entirely shallow. "Which ones? Which students?" And suddenly it didn't matter that he was standing somewhere in the middle of the woods with two imbecilic boys. It didn't matter that he'd been supposedly 'missing'. It didn't matter that he felt as if he'd been smashed over the head with a marble cauldron, nor did it matter that he was worried – what of Hermione? She was surely worried too. Well, if it was possible that she was missing, which, at this point, he was entirely sure of.

Harry coughed awkwardly, afraid to answer the stern man's question. So Ron started, instead, "Luna Lovegood..," But then trailed of, thinking.

"Cho Chang," Harry murmured, interrupting. "And Hannah Abbott."

"Susan Bones, and Parvati and Padma Patil," said Ron.

"Fleur Delacour, and … Ginny," here Harry stopped for a second, grieving. Severus purposely didn't look at Ron. "Lavender Brown," another second to grieve. But he stopped, and only for a millisecond did Severus hope.

But, then, Ron whispered, "Hermione," slowly, delicately.

Now, even the tenderness in the name did nothing to ease the pain. Still Severus fell; he felt like he would continue to fall, too, and never find purchase. But eventually, his shaking knees hit the ground and held him there. His hands ripped at his hair in desperation: What was he going to do? He had to do something. They'd taken her!

"There's nothing we can do, professor. There _was_ nothing. They're gone."

And finally it came back to him. He was running, tripping, falling from the pain of his misery; but he'd been getting back up. They were running slowly because their prizes were fighting them resistantly. As he was following, and over it all, he could hear crying, and screaming, and howls of agony. He'd been nearly on their trail. "No." Severus agreed, taking great focus to slow his shaking limbs. "But I was near there."

Someone had tried to lose him with a memory charm, but he'd dodged it. And although it hadn't hit him, he'd still fallen, and he'd hit his head on the way down. He couldn't get back up and so he'd succumbed to the darkness. His last thought had been a dreadful one...

_I hope I'm stolen, I never want back._

He honestly regretted it now – even just thinking it, but he'd felt that way at the time. Truly.

"Yeah, well," and Severus could hear the implication behind it. _'You didn't, though; stop them.' _"Let's get you back, professor." Each boy wrapped an arm around the man, pulling him up and settling him between one another. Slowly, they began dragging him towards bushes and past shivering trees. But it was all blurred to Severus – as if they were moving hundreds of miles an hour.

He wished to wallow in his own self pity, but he couldn't for fear of falling deeper. So instead, during the journey home he thought of each man – like him – that had just lost the one they loved.

Remus had lost his Luna – his moon. Oh, how Severus got tired of listening to the werewolf drone on and on about the girl. Yes, he understood that they were made for each other, had even thought that years ago; he'd seen the way that they looked at each other, the first time Lupin worked at Hogwarts. But that didn't mean he wanted to hear the odes he'd practiced – well, they were practically odes, anyway.

He then wondered whether he'd been told. Severus looked towards the sky and he could see the outline of the moon – the one that always seemed to be there, even during the brightest summer day. It was a full moon, so Remus would be in hiding; he was always too afraid to be around students, even in the day time. Not to mention the pain that he endured in the midst of the three or four days of transformation. He wouldn't be at the castle; so he wouldn't know.

He didn't know where it came from but, but Severus suddenly had the urge to tell the wolf himself. Who else would be appropriate? Headmistress Minerva? Not likely.

After Remus, Severus remembered how close Cho Chang and Seamus Finnigan were. They were the ones he always caught fooling around in the hallways. Which, of course, surprised him the first couple of times. Cho was such a bright student. But he supposed that all hormonal teenagers were the same.

It was after that thought that he blushed. He remembered the time that Minerva and Filius had caught him and Hermione.

They'd been trying to hide in the shadows – and they'd been succeeding at first. But then Severus had tripped over, either his long robes, or Hermione's, and fell to the floor in the middle of the corridor. Filius had almost tripped also, but only because he was laughing at the dour professor too hard. Minerva had scowled at first, but grinned when she saw Hermione sheepishly step out and help Severus up. She'd taken house points – jokingly, of course, but they'd been properly chastised all the same.

He sighed, then also thought of Nevelle. The boy had really grown on Severus since the end of the war. He'd changed, and yes, for the better. He had more confidence now, and that was admirable for Severus. It was respectable even. With Hannah by his side, he was really going to make an honorable name for himself. Something, if you asked the professor, he really needed.

George Weasley was an annoying nuisance. He compared evenly with a fly that never left you alone, or a mosquito that would continuously feast on you. But he was good, compassionate. And he'd take good care of anyone he loved, and anyone that deserved it. He knew how to see past differences and see a different person. He knew how to see past physical wealth and judge a person on a wealthy heart instead. He became good friends with Draco Malfoy because of these beliefs.

George had been teaching Miss Bones to act on what she believed; meanwhile, she'd been teaching Mr. Weasley not to be so damn trusting. Trust was a downfall during the war, and would always continue to be. You should know when to show it, and when to not. But he'd always been an open book.

He knew little of the relationships concerning Padma and Parvati Patil, but he knew that they were happy. Anyway, if how they behaved in potions was anything to go by. He believed Michael Corner was always with Padma, while Blaise was seen winking at Parvati across the classroom. He was close to Zabini, or had been at one point, and knew that he'd never been a serious person. For Parvati's sake, Severus hoped Blaise had changed. Severus knew next to nothing of Michael, except that he was abysmal at potions, and had been prejudiced towards Harry in his second year. Not much to go by in judgement.

Then there was Bill Weasley. He was a kind soul – he had always been that way. He had married Fleur during the war, and Severus knew that this would be the hardest on him. He'd been with Fleur the longest and had lost the knowledge of life alone. But while Bill was kind, and also gentle, he was strong, too. He could take care of himself. Because if his past experience wasn't proof of that, there would be none.

Now, Draco, that was a different story.

Severus thought of Draco as a son; he'd practically raised the boy. It was because of him that Draco had betrayed the bad – while, admittedly, his real father originally lead him to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He'd given him compassion and, yes, had coddled him a bit. But anyone that lived with Lucius Malfoy deserved someone to protect him, hold him – and wipe away his tears when he was hurt, or after he'd had a nightmare. No one else was there to do it.

Severus feared he would now have to do it again, though. Every night he'd hoped it would never come to that conclusion. Ginny Weasley was good for him, she'd healed him far more than Severus could ever. They'd been close, practically attached at the hip. How much would that hurt him now? He never thought that she'd leave him because of force; he'd always thought that it would be by free will. Would that make it worse?

Severus stored this away for later. He'd have to contemplate further before taking any action.

That left Ron Weasley. It was common knowledge that he wasn't nearly as strong as his older brother. But he had strength in his own way. Emotional strength was always good – but in his case, physical was good too. He always had ways to show his pain, to express it. Whereas Severus leaned more towards emotional strength. He always wallowed in pain then enforced a great explosion when it became too much. In this case, he had much to actually learn from the boy, from his student.

Bugger.

Severus lowered his head in exhaustion, looked up, and saw the castle in all its brilliant glory. This would be a challenge, he knew, and without his Hera by his side, it would be difficult. He wouldn't just be taking care of himself, he knew he'd be taking care of all of his students – and also the DADA professor, too. Though the man could be of help in time.

Once, as they approached the castle, Severus whimpered, "The Death Eaters, they have her." The two boys hesitated, closed their eyes, and agreed wholeheartedly. They'd known it was coming, so it was the only logical conclusion. But now, not just Severus's Hermione was stolen. And that had hit him hard. Ron had his woman taken too. And even though Harry hadn't had his own lover captured from him, everyone gone had been a good friend – a living friend, which had been just scarce lately.

"We'll get them back." Harry said determinedly, contradicting his own earlier, hopeless words. "We have to." It might have been because he was already miserable – though he'd be more miserable later – or it might have been because he knew that they needed it as much as he did, that Severus pulled Harry and Ron closer into either side.

From up above a woman ran to them. Minerva McGonagall was worried and afraid – and right now, she just needed reassurance that her Potions professor was safe. She wobbled as she ran.

Severus sighed as he closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. He smiled bitterly and tried to ignore the horrible ache in his heart. He responded somewhat silently:

"I know."

**A/N So, a bit vague at first, I know. What do you think? Review, please.**


	2. Chapter 2: What Magic?

**A/N I hope you like it, and I know if you read the Author's Notes, the one at the bottom says this too. But I'm sorry it's so short. It's kind of my second chapter – introduction chapter. If that makes sense?**

**Another thing, I want to let you know that this story is rated M for a reason. There will be rape. I worn you now.**

**Anyway...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Song: Hymn For The Missing – Red**

This land was empty. Neither living souls nor those of the dead dare trespass on the barren land of the immortal 's – Voldemort. With the passing of the last war, many did now believe that the man would never die. And he himself believed it too. His power seemed to grow at every one of his failed executions.

He had a secondary home – secondary _only _to Riddle Manor. Its walls were built directly into the thick rock of Wales. The foundation near crumbled at every gust of wind, but wards held it firmly in place. It wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, he – Voldemort – could promise that.

The mysterious and eclectic building was built a near two hundred-years ago. And it clearly looked every one of those years. It was originally built as a hermit shack. But gradually, and mixed-matchingly the home grew until it spanned over three hundred-feet each way. Gray was the main color-scheme. Dread was the only emotion you felt when you saw it.

The windows were shadowed with history. The warmth had been sucked from every hand that had lied against them. At night they held the presence of every branch and every branch acted as if it was living. No one ever knew if it was because they _were_ or were not.

It was a miracle – even though, yes, it had been spelled to stay, that the roof had never collapsed. There were many gaping holes, and every so often pieces off the top slid downwards like snow off tree branches.

The children of the nearby village told many tales of the supposedly forgotten manor. It was haunted – was generally the myth. And in many ways it could be considered so: It was scarcely occupied. Though it still seemed that at night creaks and moans and groans resounded off of the pale walls and out the broken windows and missing doors. It all echoed through the night. No one ever questioned it – it happened, and that was that.

But now someone had taken residence. And now the village residents would have to be familiarized with the screams – screams of terror from terrified women.

A building in the back had been specially, freshly built; it consisted of cement and, well, really only cement. The only thing that was beside the sturdy foundation was the impenetrable metal bars on the slits of windows. The inside was filled with many chambers, though. Empty chambers: Totally, and wholly, empty.

But they wouldn't remain that way for long.

At the bottom of the foreboding drive, pops and pops sounded throughout the dense air. And then, screams. Laughter. The traditional, "No one will hear you here,"'s. And hopelessness.

One voice cried out just one thing, "Severus!" And as it trailed on, it was cut off abruptly.

"The traitor won't find you here, sweet thing."

But she called his name once more, and then, it was echoed with many other names. Different pitches and different abilities – some had to scream it through their hiccups and raw throats. But they yelled their lovers' names. It might have been mainly for their benefit, but somewhere, the hearts of the beloveds dropped and warmed for a millisecond, as if they knew they were needed. Or at least being thought of.

But then they cried for their lost.

And one lone howl beat upon and opened the night.

In the women's heads, during their one second of mourning, they could hear their names in turn. They were masculine to the ear, and so just may have been their lovers' response.

What magic would that have been?

But the women had stored it away and kept it to themselves. They looked up hopefully and let their eyes fall downcast as the men in the dark garb plucked their feathers and drug them for hair and tooth to their new abodes. Screaming and screaming and curious eyes opening in the middle of their slumber to figure what the strange sounds were.

When no one knew – or they did, and they just refused to dwell on it. "These lands have always been welcoming unwarranted visitors" – they let their heavy eyelids take charge and they fell into their pleasant dreams again. But one or two couldn't sleep no longer.

They knew that that _thing_ – Lord Voldemort, the rave, was back. And he was bringing some terrible force with him; him and those supposed followers of his.

"Oh, Lord Almighty," one whispered, "spare those bred by the devil's spawn."

And they all fell – like Humpty Dumpty off his wall – into a place more pleasant. Maybe there they wouldn't have to suffer – suffer like those poor, poor souls.

**A/N Sorry for some of the ridiculous metaphors and the length of the chapter – yes, I realize it could be longer. But, eh, that just means more chapters, right? Anyway, please review; I love to hear what you guys have to say!**


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